


Secret Ceremonials

by StilesBastille24



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Get Together, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, bucky's scars, even though it's pretty short?, mild touch starved, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:17:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4697111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That night, Steve got his first inkling of why Natasha had been so insistent why it could be like <i>that</i> between them. Bucky flinched as if the look was a physical touch, his right hand coming up to run his thumb down the scaring. “Not exactly how you remember me, huh?”</p>
<p> “Can I?” Steve asked, holding up his hand to demonstrate his intention. Bucky hesitated for a moment before nodding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Ceremonials

**Author's Note:**

> Like it says in the tags, this ended up somehow being 'slow burn-esque' while still being under 3,000 words. Is that possible? I don't know. It still plays out that way to me though. 
> 
> I'm really into Steve accepting everything about Bucky and wanting Bucky to feel equally secure about himself, so this focuses on Steve being that way about Bucky's scars from his arm.

They’d been living together for roughly two months. Roughly because the first few weeks had been Bucky startling at sudden noises with a sprinkling of whipping knives at Steve’s head. They’d left one lodge in the wall because it had landed so perfectly in the wallpaper that Steve felt it looked more like abstract art than violence and he’d wanted Bucky to feel accepted. Steve didn’t want to pressure him to be someone he wasn’t anymore, and that knife in the wall, it didn’t scare Steve, he saw something beautiful in it and wanted Bucky to know that. 

Natasha was spending the afternoon at their apartment, eyeing the knife in the wall with equal parts glee and disapproval. “You let Clint see this and he’ll be shooting arrows into your walls and expecting gold stars, that something you want to deal with?”

Steve lifted a brow as he shrugged, watching her from his seat on the couch, hands dropped down between his knees. Bucky was at the kitchen island, back resting against counter, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I don’t really invite people over, Tasha, I’m not too worried about it,” he said, a subtle reminder that while Natasha was deeply imbedded in the broken SHIELD initiative, Steve had never wanted to be. 

“Well, I’m not people,” she allowed, turning around gracefully and hopping onto the kitchen stool next to Bucky’s stiff form. “I’m your friend.” This was said more to Bucky than Steve and Bucky bristled just as Natasha must have known he would. 

If Steve had to put names to the emotions Bucky displayed when Sam or Natasha dropped by, he would have labeled them as critical and jealous. It was bewildering, a total role reversal from their previous lives where Steve had spent every Friday through Sunday judging Bucky’s dates and being helplessly jealous of the attention he lavished on them. 

Steve found the whole thing ridiculous. He didn’t look at anyone the way he looked at Bucky; he didn’t talk to anyone the way he talked to Bucky; and for Bucky to be jealous of any of Steve’s new friends was simply preposterous. 

With this in mind, Steve frowned. “A friend I’m beginning to regret giving a key to.”

Natasha’s responding smile was sparkling. “Liar. You love my presence, it spices your life up.” She eyed Bucky for a moment, smile widening into something dangerous. “You ever tell Bucky about your first kiss after seventy years?” 

Bucky’s eyes shot to Steve and Steve winced, one hand running down the back of his neck. “I try not to think about that in general, Natasha.”

“Aw, Cap, you wound me.” She pouted, but her eyes were cunning. “I’ve been told I’m a great kisser by men far more powerful and experienced than you.”

Steve grimaced. “Yeah, well that doesn’t particularly surprise me. I’m fairly certain that you gave me a subpar rating on that kiss, not the other way around.” He made himself meet the stare he could feel Bucky boring into the side of his face. “It was a distraction technique, for when we were getting hunted down by –“ he hesitated, unsure how unwelcome Rumlow’s name would be to Bucky. 

Bucky just hoisted both brows, encouraging him on. “By Rumlow,” Steve finished.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I was always impressed that Rumlow wasn’t crushed beneath the excessive weight of his own ego.”

Natasha snorted, legs swinging enticingly off the stool, calf high boots outlining her perfect everything. “Guy was an asshole.”

Bucky nodded curtly, eyes gone distant as he remembered something that Steve couldn’t begin to imagine. It made Steve twitchy, knowing there were seventy years of memories that he couldn’t even begin to touch, memories that had shaped who Bucky became after he remembered his life before Hydra. 

The distance between them seemed to span more drastically than it had when Bucky first left for Europe and Steve was still trapped in Brooklyn. Steve leaned forward without meaning to, eyes searching Bucky’s expression for any noticeable triggers. As if sensing this unwanted attention, Bucky stood abruptly. 

Instead of leaving the room as Steve had feared he would, Bucky threw his weight down beside Steve on the couch, jostling him. Steve was infinitely relieved, but kept it contained to squeezing his hands tightly together between his knees. 

Bucky flicked a look at Natasha, the edges of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Don’t remember any of the girls complaining about Steve’s kisses back in 1940. 

And Natasha, who was phased only by the most trying of things, widened her eyes in disbelief. “Rogers?” she questioned, “Steve Rogers, had game back in the 1900s?”

Bucky scoffed. “I didn’t say he had game, Romanoff, I said nobody complained when he kissed them.”

Insides twisting pleasantly with Bucky’s easy camaraderie, Steve elbowed him deftly in the ribs. “Shut it. I had game. There was game.”

Bucky stared at him incredulously. “That, right there, displays exactly how much game you didn’t have, Stevie.”

Natasha laughed, eyes lighting between them with dangerous curiosity. “You boys go out much? Paint the town red?”

“Bucky did,” Steve said hurriedly, hoping to get the attention off his woeful dating history. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, kicking his long legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles, dark, heavy boots loud on the wood floor. 

“Mm,” Natasha hummed, red lips pressed together to hide her smile. “Ladies man, were you, Barnes?”

“Good time Charlie, that’s what they called it back then,” Bucky informed her, something like pride slipping into his tone. 

Sunlight was streaming in through the balcony doors, glinting off Bucky’s metal arm and bringing out the soft brown tones of his dark hair. Steve figured he shouldn’t notice things like that about his best friend, but he also figured that was bullshit because he’d always noticed those details. It was an artist thing, he assumed, those little details were the ones he wanted to capture when he sketched. 

“And what about Steve?” Natasha flicked her eyes to him then back to Bucky.

Bucky shrugged. “Had to bring my best pal around with me, right? Couldn’t leave him at home to rot with his comics and paints.”

“Hey,” Steve protested, sneaker kicking into Bucky’s boot. “You make me sound pathetic.”

“You were,” Bucky said easily.

Natasha laughed, loud and unabashed. “Ooh, burn, Steve.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “He’s being a jerk. It wasn’t like that. Bucky liked taking the girls dancing. I was five foot nothing, hundred pounds wet, maybe; gals don’t want to go out with a guy like that and they certainly don’t want them to take them dancing.” 

Natasha waved this away with an efficient flick of her wrist. “Don’t claim to know what women want, Steve, you’ll just make yourself look like a fool.”

“Amen,” Bucky praised, sinking his neck back on the couch and closing his eyes. “Besides, any dame who wasn’t interested in you was a fool. You were the most earnest guy I ever met, Steve. They would have been lucky if you looked twice at them.”

Heat curled up Steve’s ears, embarrassment warming his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bucky.” 

Natasha’s smile spread wide like the Chesire cat. She darted a glance to Steve, nudging her head in Bucky’s direction. Steve stared blankly back at her, not understanding the silent signal. She nudged her head more pointedly in Bucky’s direction.

He looked at Bucky, taking in the bend of his neck, the slouch of his body, the tilt of his hips, and the sprawl of his legs. Was Natasha worried he was going to break his neck with his current position? Was Steve expected to correct him? Because Tasha was out of her depth if she thought Bucky would listen to Steve’s admonishment. 

He glanced back at Natasha, shrugging his confusion. Her gaze narrowed and she paired it with a more vigorous nudging of her head, bright red hair cut to her chin and curled like it had been with Steve first met her. Steve made his expression as blank as Tony always claimed it was when talking about matters of technology. 

Beside him, eyes still closed, Bucky huffed a laugh. “She’s waiting for you to make a move, pal.”

Steve jerked as if pinched. “What?” he asked shocked. 

Bucky laughed again, a little more freely this time. He slit his eyes open, catching glances with Natasha. “Ain’t like that, Romanoff.”

She shrugged, crossing her knee over her leg. “It could be, nobody would think anything of it now.”

As much as Steve wanted to pretend he didn’t know what they were talking about, it was abundantly clear now. His embarrassment swept down from his ears, crashing into his cheeks. “I don’t think that’s entirely true,” he said quietly. 

“You care what they think, Steve?” Bucky asked, honest curiosity in his question. 

“No,” Steve readily admitted, “it’s just like you said. Ain’t like that with us.”

He nodded, turning his attention back to Natasha. “See.”

She huffed a sigh, standing up and smoothing her hands down her pants. “Could be, that’s all I’m saying, fellas.” Then she turned, her black jeans doing wonders for her perfect everything, and sauntered toward the door. “It’s a whole new world out there and you don’t have anything to prove to anybody but yourselves.” And with a tilt of her head in their direction, she slipped out the door.

Bucky rolled his head on the couch to eye Steve. “You have the weirdest friends, pal.”

Steve snorted. “I think that probably means a lot seeing as I’ve only got four of them.”

Bucky grinned. “You’re right. Maybe you’re the weird one and we’re all just pulled into your orbit.”

“Yeah, it’s probably something like that,” he agreed, eyes caught on the flecks of green around Bucky’s irises, the lines at the corners of his eyes that creased so perfectly when he smiled, the dip in his chin that was hidden when he grew out his facial hair. All the little details that made up the Bucky Barnes that Steve loved beyond a shadow of a doubt, it just wasn’t like that with them. 

That night, when Bucky emerged from the shower in a pair of black gym shorts with red stripes on the sides and nothing else, Steve got his first inkling of why Natasha had been so insistent why it could be like that between them because he was staring at Bucky and not sparing a thought for drawing, his attention was solely on mapping all of that wet glistening skin with his bare hands. 

Bucky caught his admiring gaze and quirked a brow upwards. “You okay there, punk?”

Steve jerked his head in an awkward attempt at a nod, then he swallowed convulsively. “Uhm - yeah. Okay, I’m okay.” 

Bucky’s grin was obnoxiously cheeky. “You sure?” he asked, running his metal hand through the damp locks of his dark hair. 

“Bucky,” Steve groaned, eyes tracking down to the crisscross of scars that marked the connection between Bucky’s metal arm and his flesh. 

Bucky flinched as if the look was a physical touch, his right hand coming up to run his thumb down the scaring. “Not exactly how you remember me, huh?”

Steve felt himself shrug as his feet carried him across the apartment until he was standing in front of Bucky. “Funny thing for you to be saying to me.” He gestured self-deprecating to his own physique. 

“I seem to remember that being your choice,” Bucky said quietly, fingers edging over to the metal plates of his shoulder. 

“Yeah, well,” Steve placated. He tilted his head to the side, slanting his gaze from Bucky’s wary eyes to his arm. “Can I?” he asked, holding up his hand to demonstrate his intention. 

Bucky hesitated for a moment before nodding. Slowly, in case Bucky changed his mind, Steve reached out, fingertips barely glancing over the scarred skin. Bucky startled at the touch before steeling himself. Steve waited him out, not wanting to make Bucky uncomfortable. When Bucky gave an impatient twitch, Steve smiled reassuringly and pressed his fingers firmly against the seam between flesh and metal. 

The scars were puckered but smooth beneath his touch, the metal cold and impossibly sleek. He let his hand slide up to the hard bone of Bucky’s shoulder blade, then down his back, against his ribcage, and up the other side again, feeling all the places where Bucky had been stitched together. 

Beneath his hand, Bucky’s breathing grew tense. Steve glanced up to make sure they were still in acceptable territory only to find Bucky’s eyes pinched shut. “You still with me, pal?” Steve asked softly. 

Bucky nodded tightly. “Nobody’s -” he started and stalled. 

“Yeah?” Steve prompted, thumb brushing back and forth over the scars at the joint between Bucky’s arm and his chest. 

“I was an experiment, the new fist of Hydra, that doesn’t really bring out the touchy-feelys in people.” The admission was forced between grit teeth. 

Misery swamped Steve and before he could think it through, Steve was right up close in Bucky’s personal space, free hand gripping Bucky’s waist. “Remember, before you got your orders, when all those girls kept their distance ‘cuz they thought I would break in half if they touched me wrong?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed out, the fingers of his right hand skating over Steve’s hip before tangling in the hem of Steve’s t-shirt. 

“And you’d just sling your arm around my shoulders like it was nothing, punch my shoulder like I wouldn’t bruise, hug me tight like my lungs wouldn’t constrict?” Steve closed his eyes, seeing it perfectly, clearly, like it was yesterday instead of decades ago. 

“It was nothing,” Bucky argued. “You weren’t gonna break, not if they knew how to touch you.”

“They didn’t though, that’s why you did instead,” Steve said. 

“Everybody needs to be touched, Steve,” Bucky insisted. 

“Uh-huh,” Steve agreed, nodding so that his temple brushed Bucky’s. “Even the fist of Hydra.” He cupped his hand around Bucky’s metal shoulder, thumb pressed to the scars that joined it to his collar bone. “Especially the fist of Hydra.”

“I’m not the fist anymore,” Bucky contradicted, tugging on the hem of Steve’s shirt until he pulled back enough to look in Bucky’s eyes.

“No,” Steve smiled, hand squeezing reassuringly around Bucky’s hip. “No, you’re Bucky Barnes, and that means I know exactly how to touch you, if you’ll let me.” 

Bucky scoffed, untwinning his fingers from Steve’s shirt and pushing him away lightly. “Since when have you got game, Rogers?”

Steve quirked his mouth into a cocky grin. “Since Natasha’s been training me.”

“Wonderful. The Black Widow is giving Captain America tips on the art of seduction.” Bucky reached back to pull his wet hair into a bun but kept still enough so that Steve’s hand wasn’t dislodged from his arm. 

“Is it working?” Steve asked, genuinely curious. 

“Well, it’s a lot better than you telling a girl war bonds were a better expense than strawberry milkshakes.” Bucky tilted his head to the side and smiled with just his eyes. 

Steve groaned. “That was one time, Buck. Why you always got to bring it up?”

“Because you were so earnest,” Bucky teased, metal hand coming up to capture Steve’s hand in his against the heat of skin and the cool of metal that was his shoulder. “And it was my money you bought Betsy those bonds with.”

“Bucky,” Steve whined, forcing his heart to beat steady as Bucky intertwined their fingers. 

“Mhm, punk, don’t think my untimely demise and resurrection or yours has erased those debts from my mind. Figure you owe me about five hundred dollars, what with inflation and all.” He squeezed lightly at Steve’s hand, spirits high. 

“Yeah, well, apparently I’ve got a lump of money collecting interest in some bank account set up by Howard Stark. Think I can pay you back easy. Though, since you’re living here rent free - “

“Punk,” Bucky scolded, levering Steve closer to him with his grip on his hand. 

Steve grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

Bucky groaned, closing his eyes as if in pain. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. No game at all, Rogers. Not even a pinch hitter.”

“Decent kisser though,” Steve countered, “or at least I’ve never heard otherwise.”

“Think you’ll have to prove that to me, pal. For all I know, those dames were just being polite about your fish lips.”

“Fish lips,” Steve echoed indignantly.

Bucky smirked, “You got a dame’s lips, Stevie, but you ain’t dame, so they’re fish lips.”

“Jerk,” Steve scoffed. 

“C’mere,” Bucky said, tugging Steve the last few inches necessary so that they were flush, chest to chest, Steve’s right leg between both of Bucky’s. “Now shut up and kiss me, punk.”

And Steve did, grinning the whole time. He'd have to tell Natash it was like that between them after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://www.blueeyeschina.tumblr.com)


End file.
